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Son of a Rogue

Page 12

by Cecelia Mecca

“I’ve been called worse.”

“A man lies on the ground, barely breathing—”

“And his friend in the stairwell, not breathing at all. I am aware, Lady Freya, of the need for us to be gone from this chamber.”

“For you to be gone. My parents wed in the hall below. My mother died in the chamber next to this one. My baby brother, just born, with her. I will not”—she ignored his now-wet lip—“abandon it to a man who little deserved the title of third Lord Hathawaye of Edyington. I refuse to believe Sir Walter will find no aid, after all my father has done for his allies throughout the years, other than you. I refuse to believe my grandmother will forsake me.”

He was torn. That was plain enough to see. Rory had been about to have her see the same fate as the guard, but likely he could not do it. He might be an incurable flirt, but he was, at least, honorable. Something which she’d suspected despite his appalling assault on her person in her very own bed.

Not as appalling as you would like to believe, Freya.

Rory sighed loudly. And then his hand reached out toward her face. Freya pulled back, afraid he would indeed strike her. Instead he simply grasped a strand of her hair that had come loose and replaced it behind her ear. A surprisingly tender thing for such a man to do.

“I do not blame you, Freya, for seeing things as you wish them to be rather than as they truly are. We all do the same, fighting against the painful truth. Some never reconcile their wishes with their reality and go mad because of it. Others take so long to do so, they forfeit years of their lives. Too few understand their own truth, embrace it—good or bad—and find ways to live with it. Your truth, Freya, is that Edyington is lost. I do not blame you for your resistance to leaving. I would die as your father did rather than flee.”

“And yet you ask me to do otherwise?”

“I ask you to honor him by living. Honor the journey your men took to find the Brotherhood and the commitment my family and Clan Kerr undertook by agreeing to intervene. If I am caught, if my families are exposed, many, many people on both sides of the border will pay the price for it.”

“I would not betray you.”

“You would not need to. I’ve met your brother before. He knows me well.”

“You have? When? Where? Why were you chosen to come, then? Surely there were others who could have gone undetected.”

Rory smiled. “None expected me to be caught. Nor will I be.”

She was about to offer a retort to such a boast, but stopped. He was not boasting. Sir Rory Waryn was sent here for a reason. Surely they could have sent another, but here he stood, towering above her. Calm. Determined. Despite the circumstance.

He is not a man to lie.

Whether she should believe him or not did not matter. He believed the truth of his own words. And, if true, her stubbornness would see her married forthwith to a man of Edward’s choosing. Perhaps . . . perhaps another choice, a third decision, could be made.

“I do not wish to go with you,” she said carefully, considering the words as she said them. “And you are determined I do so.”

He seemed unimpressed. “That is the way of it, Freya,” Rory said dryly.

“What if I go with you,” she added quickly, “and lead us out the same way Sir Walter escaped? And in exchange, you provide me safe escort to Shenworth. So that I might speak to my grandmother directly.”

Rory made a low sound in his throat. A half laugh and half sound of disgust. “My mission was to see you returned to your men at Bristol. Shenworth is in the opposite direction, nor do I have any wish to journey to the Welsh border. I will take you to your men and you can lead them on a merry chase throughout England.”

A fine plan, if she wished to waste so many days as her brother further embedded himself here. Which she did not. “Then you may strike me now, for that is the only way I will consider leaving.”

Rory opened his mouth and then closed it. His eyes narrowed. “You would prefer I carry you from here rather than join your own men for a journey west?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Why indeed. It had naught to do with the way he was looking at her now. “I know you will deliver me safely to my grandmother. And I also know she will aid me in taking back the castle her own husband was granted. I’d not wait to fetch my men since, as you say, they are in the opposite direction. Besides,” she admitted. “They would think it a foolish plan and that we should wait to receive word from her.”

“Because it is a foolish plan.”

She would say no more. Rory apparently was finished with their discussion as well. He turned from her, and for a moment, she thought he might simply leave. Instead, he dragged the guard toward the other side of her bed, muttering something under his breath the entire time. And then, “Dress quickly. Take nothing but your person and the thickest mantle you own.”

She did not move. “I would hear the words. You vow to take me directly to Shenworth Castle?”

Another grunt. And then, “I will take you. Fool that I am.”